


Quadruple Drabble: When The Battle's Lost And Won.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Category: Velvet Goldminee
Genre: M/M, Quadruple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-15
Updated: 2005-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:18:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Isn't the most canon-istic of drabbles.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Quadruple Drabble: When The Battle's Lost And Won.

**Author's Note:**

> Isn't the most canon-istic of drabbles.

Change the world.

It hadn't seemed so pretentious in the beginning. He'd left the trailer park, done a shitload of very good drugs, fucked around with abandon. Maybe he wasn't changing the world, but he was doing quite a number on _his_ world.

Sure, things didn't always go his way. He'd lost three months of his life once. Never found it. Then there was Brian. It was corny, but Brian made him believe. In what, he didn't know. Jesus Christ, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy. Maybe it was just the magic of Brian fucking Slade, Maxwell fucking Demon. Yeah. Sounded right.

Because Curt may be a dumb-ass-Wilde-wannabee, but Brian was fucking _crazy_. Crazy like a fox, crazy like a fucking deer caught in fucking barbed-wire with a cattleprod up its ass. Crazy like Curt could be, sometimes, but Brian did it stone-cold sober.

Brian took the fucking glitter thing and made it into his mantra.

Still, somewhere along the line, things changed. Curt isn't sure where, but he knows they did. Took a shitload of plastic surgery, the love of a frigid bitch, and a five year disappearance from the has-been radar, but finally there was another cookie-cutter shill with fake hair and a suspicious lack of train-tracks going up and down his thigh.

Change the world. Curt snorts. Fuck that. Wait long enough and you won't recognize your fucking shadow, your fucking _lover_ , as fucked up as _that_ was. Brian had such a way with words. Always did.

Tommy didn't. Shit was plastic pop, prob'ly written by committee. Fucking sounded like it. Curt spins the brooch on the table and pulls his bleached hair back when the brooch comes up green. He can hear the freaks screaming from down the street. Tommy. They all want Tommy. Ten years ago, it was Brian. Ten years from now? Who fucking knew.

Funny thing, he'd honestly thought Brian didn't have it in him. He'd honestly thought Brian could do it, could change the fucking world, could bend it the way he wanted, the way he bent everything around him. The world didn't make Brian. Brian made the world. Weren't an original like Jack, but Jack hadn't given up his fucking _career_ for Curt.

Fucking death and taxes. Should add sell-outs to that list. Fucking inevitable.

God- _fucking_ -dammit. It wasn't supposed to hurt this fucking much.

It wasn't supposed to hurt at all.


End file.
